


cloud nine

by itsfrickenbats



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Homosexuals, I love them okay, M/M, Marriage, Reddie, Slow Burn, eddie is INJURED, somewhat slow burn, they gay or whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsfrickenbats/pseuds/itsfrickenbats
Summary: Richie Tozier was left as the shell of a man he once knew. Outside of being a comedian, he was nothing. Without Eddie, he was nothing. Which was what he believed, anyway. If he was anything but a comedian, but a display for the world, he was Eddie’s.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 37





	cloud nine

If Richie had to describe how he felt in one word, it would’ve been empty. He couldn’t exactly pin the feeling, mainly because there was a lack of it. His body felt almost as if it were numb, but he wasn’t quite sure if it was his mind or if the feeling truly was physical. Maybe it was physical, though. It was possible that the feeling was migrating through his body, the numbness almost palpable. He felt Eddie’s blood drying on his shirt, the red-soaked fabric clinging to his chest in a way that was nothing short of disturbing, and for a split second he could hear Eddie’s broken cry of his name, the way his voice shattered and trembled, how his body fell limp against his, how the blood almost immediately bubbled in his throat, how weak he sounded in that moment. ‘Richie…’ Eddie had muttered in disbelief and through unimaginably painful tears.

Richie had been sitting in the waiting room for fifteen hours. Twenty three hours, they had been performing surgery on Eddie. They had been pulling at Eddie’s flesh, _his_ _Eddie Spaghetti’s flesh,_ tearing him up and stitching him back together again. The nurses had all came out to see him, checking up on him repeatedly, but every time they had asked if he needed anything, Richie had whelved everything, burying it deep in his mind, insisting that all he needed was for the doctors to give Eddie his life back. They all nodded in agreement. They all left Richie alone in his own mind. 

“Why are you here, kid?” a voice sounded next to him, and Richie, always such an eccedentesiast, just grinned, shrugging. “Hey, you’re that comedian, what was the name? Garbage somethin’, right? I watched one of your sketches earlier. SNL, right? Love your work, buddy.” Richie’s mind wandered as the man next to him continued to drone on and on about how much he loved his jokes, how funny he was, and he only snapped back into it when asked for a photo. Usually, Richie would be in a state of prolix, as he usually was. Trashmouth wasn’t his nickname for no reason, after all. But all he could do was nod, smiling brightly as he wrapped his arm around the man. A nurse called a name Richie didn’t recognize, and the man stood. “Nice to meet you, bud, but I’ve gotta get going. Hate to cut things short,” he sighed, entering a room down the hall.

And with that, Richie Tozier was left as the shell of a man he once knew. Outside of being a comedian, he was nothing. Without Eddie, he was nothing. Which was what he believed, anyway. If he was anything but a comedian, but a display for the world, he was Eddie’s. He had always belonged to him, in a sense; sure, he had hooked up with people over the years and had his fair share of brief relationships, but they weren’t Eddie. It was unfair, if he was honest, to both of them (and he was aware of that) but Richie was insatiable. Not because he wasn’t grateful for the treatment he had received, but because even though he had someone, they couldn’t compare to him.

Richie’s face fell glacial as soon as he was left alone. Emotions were something he could barely even remember, face pale and eyes sunken in from capriciously staying up for so long, his hands trembling. He couldn’t bear to think of life without Eddie, he couldn’t bear the thought that the love of his life could be slipping through his fingers. An hour later, a woman in scrubs entered the waiting room and Richie’s head perked up. After scanning the room and noticing that there was only him, she approached him steadily. “Mr. Tozier?” she asked, and he gave a nervous nod. “I was in the room with Mr. Kaspbrak. He’s asking for you,” she offered, gesturing for him to follow her. Richie stood on weak legs, easily towering over the woman even though he felt so much smaller in the moment.

Entering the room, Richie’s face dropped immediately. A small smile cracked over Eddie’s pale features and he lifted his arm - the only one he had left - to gesture Richie over. “Come here, asshole,” he mumbled weakly. Richie smiled lightly and moved to sit on the chair positioned next to Eddie’s bed. “You look like…” he trailed off, taking a sharp inhale followed by a wince from the pain in his chest, “shit, dude. You look like shit,” he laughed airily, coughing a bit afterwards.

Richie sighed and he shook his head with a dry chuckle. “Have you seen yourself, Eds?” he replied, causing the doctors to furrow their brows. The two friends had expected that of others; their esoteric bond was one that was special to the both of them. That’s what made Eddie so special to Richie. When Eddie’s face lit up just slightly in the smallest of chuckles, Richie’s face flashed into a hopeful expression. “How’re ya feeling, Eddie Spaghetti?” Richie asked, though the answer was clear to both of them.

“Oh, I’m feeling great, man. Had some chicken skewers earlier.” A laugh erupted from Richie’s chest, bubbling in his throat until he saw Eddie wince again. His face settled once again, reaching to grab his hand. When he tried, however, his hand came into contact with the rough hospital bedding. Eddie sighed and lifted his only arm. “Chopped the other one off, Chee. Got tired of it,” he joked, and for once, neither of them laughed. “But really, Rich, they had to. Wouldn’t have been here if I kept it, man. Had to live to hear your dumb fucking jokes,” he laughed gently, a hiss escaping the back of his throat not long after. 

A joke was on the tip of Richie’s tongue, but he couldn’t get the words out. The man’s tendencies to rant and rave had been nearly forgotten as his mouth shut in a firm line, lips pursing as he extended his arm over Eddie’s torso to grab his hand. The one that was there, the only one he had left. God, the thought of Eddie having one fucking hand rattled Richie in the strangest way. He was going to miss Eddie’s hands - plural, he meant - even if they hadn’t held his the way he wished they would’ve. Even if they hadn’t rested against the sides of Richie’s face like he wanted them to, he was going to miss his hands. He gave Eddie’s hand a light squeeze, smiling tearfully. “Jesus Christ, Eds, you wanna know somethin’? I’ll tell you even if you don’t, man; you’re the strongest fucking dude I know,” Richie told him, eyes narrowing just slightly. Eddie’s eyes scanned over Richie’s body for the first time since Richie entered the room. His previously yellow shirt had been stained vermillion with Eddie’s blood (Bev offered to bring him a change of clothes, but he refused to leave the waiting room for long enough to even change and shower) and his hair was disheveled, but for some strange reason he couldn’t pick out one fault in Richie’s appearance. 

“I’m just trying to survive, Richie, I don’t know how that’s-”

“Shut up, Spaghetti, let me spe-”

“I’m just surviving, Chee.” Eddie stated in a deadpan tone, face suddenly falling into a blank expression. The medical staff had left the room by then, allowing them to have a moment alone, and for some reason the room fell silent. The reason wasn’t unknown; the two men had known that it was because neither of them had the right words for the moment. They shared a nervous stare, holding their gazes until Eddie spoke once again. “I’m not being strong. I’m not strong, Richie, and that’s the thing. All I’m doing is surviving, and I’m not even doing that right. Tell me, please, and be honest: how the fuck am I the strongest if I can barely even do enough to survive on my own?”

“You’re braver than you think, Eds,” Richie whispered for the second time, and even if it was repeated from another instance, it made Eddie’s heart flutter in a way that should’ve been painful. For a split second, the red hot pain in his chest was alleviated by Richie’s soft smile and gentle voice. “You’re so much braver than you think. It’s so fucking dumb, because you’re the bravest person I know, Eds. For fuck’s sakes, you got through this fucking surgery, and if that isn’t enough to prove it I really don’t know what is. I love…” Richie cut himself off briefly, but after seeing the way Eddie’s face softened and some sort of light sparked in his eyes, he continued. “I love that about you, Eds. It’s why I love you so much. And… not in the way I love the others. Fuck, that could’ve came out better,” Richie let out, almost as if it was a breath he had been holding for years. And in a way, it was.

“Richie, I…” Eddie’s head turned to face the doorway at the gentle knock, Bev, Ben, Mike, Bill and Stan piling into the room. They all rushed over to greet Eddie, trying to conceal their somber expressions upon noticing his excruciating pain and lack of an arm. “Hey, guys,” Eddie offered weakly, wincing with each hug he accepted.

It had been two months later. Richie and Eddie had never spoken of Richie’s confession, partially due to the fact that that would require clarification that neither of them were ready for, whether that be the comments that would have been made by Richie, or the responses Eddie would’ve had to give. Eddie had moved in with Richie to make things easier, and no problems were presented. Their only issue was that Eddie was fucking  _ stubborn. _

“For fuck’s sakes, Eds, please just lay back down,” Richie sighed, hands pushing gently - more for guidance than anything else - on his shoulders. Eddie refused, shrugging Richie’s touch off. A wince escaped from him and it didn’t go unnoticed. “Down you go, Spaghetti,” Richie pushed a little more and Eddie laid down finally.

“I’m capable of getting water for myself, Chee,” Eddie grumbled in annoyance. “Look, man, as nice as the offer is, I can do things for myself. It’s been what? Two months? I can do as much as get myself a goddamned glass of water,” he disputed. 

“You were fucking kebabed by an insane, killer fucking clown, Eds! You want to tell me that you’re perfectly fine after that bullshit?” Richie snapped, and Eddie shrunk into his seat. A sigh escaped Richie’s lips and he took Eddie’s hand. “I’ll bring your water up in a second, Eddie my love,” he spoke softly, giving Eddie’s palm a gentle squeeze before rising and grabbing the drink for him.

Two months after that, Eddie had begun to walk around. With Richie’s help, of course; there was no way he would’ve allowed his Eds to go unattended in the state he was in. Eddie had grown slightly more distant, however, and Richie felt a rising need to know why. “C’mon, talk to me, Eds,” Richie sighed, pushing himself up to sit on the counter. He kicked his legs slightly and huffed upon the lack of response. “Why have you been avoiding me?” he managed in a small voice. “Did I do something wrong?” Richie asked. 

“No,” Eddie spoke quietly, fiddling with the sleeve of a baggy red hoodie Richie could’ve sworn was his. “You didn’t do anything  _ wrong,  _ Richie,” he huffed, finally looking his best friend and current roommate in the eye. 

“Then what’s wrong? You can talk to me,” Richie whispered, gripping the edge of the counter roughly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you if I did, Eds,” he continued, resulting in a scoff from the shorter man. Richie’s eyebrows raised in surprise and Eddie rolled his eyes, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. 

“Didn’t I just tell you that you didn’t do anything wrong? Just leave it, Rich,” Eddie grumbled. And he did. For a short while, at least. Richie had always found silence to have an ominous, melancholic sort of tone to it, so when he inhaled a little, parting his lips to speak, Eddie raised his eyebrows in expectancy. 

Richie sighed and he hopped down from the counter, moving closer to Eddie. “You’ve seemed… distant lately. I just want to make sure you’re okay…” he trailed off upon seeing Eddie’s set jaw and narrowed eyes. “Eds…” he mumbled, and before he knew it, Eddie was flying forward and pressing a gentle, yet urgent kiss on Richie’s lips. Before Richie could react, before he could rest his hands on Eddie’s waist, before he could do  _ anything,  _ they disconnected and Eddie sighed. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Eddie repeated, and he staggered upstairs, obviously pained by the way the small thud of his feet on the wooden staircase shot up to his chest. Richie was left breathless, and more importantly,  _ confused,  _ and he wasn’t quite sure why Eddie had up and left, though he was fairly certain he just needed time. 

After about a half hour, Richie made his way upstairs, knocking on Eddie’s door gently. “Eds?” Richie heard no response. He tried twice more before opening the door, seeing Eddie’s head rested against his plush pillow, eyes closed and lips slightly parted with each exhalation. Richie smiled, taking in the sight of Eddie so calm after how tense he had been just seconds before. He shut the door and strode down the hall to his own room.

Some time after that, four tense months and twenty-five agonizing days, to be exact (Richie had been counting), Eddie knocked on Richie’s door gently. “Yeah, Eddie Spaghetti? Come in,” he called, pausing FRIENDS on the tv and sitting up as Eddie walked into the room. “Why so tense, Eds?” he asked gently, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. “Is everything alr-”

“We need to talk,” Eddie started, and some sort of tension built in Richie’s shoulders. A shaky sigh escaped Eddie’s lips, cheeks tainted the slightest shade of pink in sheer embarrassment. “About us,” he clarified. Richie provided a weak ‘hm?’ and Eddie continued, gaze focused anywhere but Richie’s pale, lightly freckled face. “It’s been like, what? Four months? I’m healed, and I’m still living in your home, and please tell me you’ve noticed how fucking tense it’s been or I think I’ll start hyperventilating,” he laughed apprehensively.

“Yeah, it’s been tense, Eds-”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie interrupted, and Richie snickered with a nod.

“Right,  _ Eds _ , yeah, it’s been tense, but I figured you were just so overwhelmed with how completely  _ gorgeous  _ your roomma-” cut off by a ‘beep beep’, Richie sighed. “Really, though, Eddie Spaghetti. I… I don’t even fucking know what to do about it,” he laughed dryly. “I don’t know what to do because  _ god,  _ Eds, if I lose you…” he trailed off.

“Why would you lose me?” Eddie asked gently, and Richie’s jaw set. “Jesus fucking Christ, Rich, if I did something wrong, just tell me. I’m a grown man, I can accept my own fucking mistakes. Just tell me why things have been tense and I’ll-”

“Because I love you.” Richie stated simply. Eddie inhaled sharply and Richie looked him directly in the eye. “I love you, Eddie, and I always have. I’m sorry if that’s fucking stupid of me to say, and I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same, and I’m so fucking sorry if you can’t stand me because of it but I don’t know if I can just move on-”

Eddie rolled his eyes and huffed. “Shut the fuck up, Richard,” he grumbled, failing to silence Richie as his babble continued. Figures. Eddie grabbed Richie’s face, pulling him to press their lips together. That’s one way to effectively cut the man off, Eddie supposed. When they disconnected, their eyes locked and they couldn’t help but share a second embrace. "I love you, too, Richie. Fucking idiot."

But that was all in the past. It all seems to be so long ago as Richie and Eddie Tozier say their “I do’s”, and it’s certainly way past their line of sight as they sit and listen to Stanley’s speech at their reception. Stanley had grown into his curly hair; it now frames his face almost perfectly at his ripe age of forty-three, his crisp custom-tailored suit slightly longer in the sleeves than it normally would be to hide the angry light pink scars that still slid down his wrists. A small smile makes its way onto his face as he adjusts his suit sleeves slightly and begins, clearing his throat into the mic slightly to calm the loud, buzzing chatter throughout the room. Richie lets out a laugh at his best friend’s antics, taking Eddie’s hand and turning his head to face the podium as he rubs his thumb over the wedding ring. 

“As Richie’s best man, I guess I have to give some sort of speech, but I mean hey, why the hell not? Any excuse to embarrass the Trashmouth for a couple minutes, right?” laughter erupts from the room, including a small giggle from Eddie, followed by a nudge to the shoulder. “But, really, thanks for letting me do this, Rich,” he smiles. “I signed up for a best friend back in elementary school, but I got a brother, and I’m so glad that he’s finally found someone who loves him and is going to be able to put up with his bullshit. You know, if Richie has one talent, it’s talking. Honest to god, since we were kids, I’m not sure he’s ever shut up. He doesn’t shut up about anything, really, but one thing he talked about constantly when we were younger - or one person, I should say, was Eddie. All he talked about, I swear to god. I think all of us were aware of how this would turn out, really. I mean, for two people who have sacrificed so much for one another, they sure as hell can make it work. Eddie has always been one of my best friends, too, and I’m so glad that even through everything, these two have been able to find each other again. To the Toziers!” Stan finishes, raising his champagne flute. After the toast, Stan sits back down at his table.

Even through everything, all of the torture, pain, loss and rebuilding Eddie and Richie have been put through, they find solace in one another. Richie feels comforted by the smell of Eddie’s hair - the same coconut shampoo that he had used as a child - as he presses a small kiss to the top of his head. He finds joy in the way Eddie smiles brightly up at him, the smile that has never changed since day one. Faltered, maybe, but in this moment, it seems as if Eddie was simply a child in Derry again. For some reason, though, Richie’s favourite thing is Eddie’s eyes. The way they light up whenever Richie tells him he loves him, or even when they roll back into his head as he hears yet another joke about his mother. “Hey, Mr. Tozier,” Richie whispers.

“What is it, Mr. Tozier?” Eddie laughs lightly, leaning his head on Richie’s shoulder and resting a hand on his husband’s knee.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie mumbles, and Eddie hums in response. Words aren’t needed; they both know that the feeling is mutual. They finally have their happy ending, and though it took so much to get to it, the Toziers can’t be happier than they are together. A gentle kiss is pressed to Eddie’s temple, and in response he kisses Richie’s hand, just where the wedding band is. 

“I think I know,” Eddie whispers, turning Richie’s chin in order to leave a gentle kiss on his lips. Today is their wedding day, and it almost feels like Eddie’s near death was a lifetime ago. It feels as if they were never the kids in Derry that they truly were; just simply them. And that’s enough for them, they think. It’s enough to be Richie and Eddie Tozier, because they’re on cloud nine and can’t really complain. 


End file.
